


Montenegro

by RoughTweedAction (Donya)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Adlock, Developing Relationship, F/M, Holding Hands, Holding other body parts, Romantic Fluff, Sightseeing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-09-06 14:55:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16834864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Donya/pseuds/RoughTweedAction
Summary: Sherlock and Irene have been meeting in Montenegro for a day or two. After Sherrinford, they decide to spend a bit more time together and discover that what happens in Montenegro, doesn't stay in Montenegro.





	Montenegro

The first summer after Sherrinford was different. Sherlock was no longer anticipating Moriarty's return. He wasn't focused on keeping Mary safe. Fleeting childhood memories weren't haunting him anymore. Secrets were revealed, closures found, chapters closed. Nothing prevented or distracted Sherlock. Moreover, the conversation about his feelings he imagined in his feverish dream happened in real life. He needed a more or less gentle nudge to do something more than just texting Irene and John didn't disappoint. He was right, there was no point in staying away from her, they were both alive and liked each other. So, on the first day of summer Sherlock was on a plane and in less than an hour he was going to see Irene again.

What John didn't know was that it wasn't the first time since Karachi. Sherlock was wary of mentioning anything that happened after the fall, John still harboured a lot of anger about that time. He didn't need to know that Irene and Sherlock met in Montenegro, Sherlock was tracking down Moriarty's associates in the area and Irene was on holidays in Dubrovnik. Sherlock expected her to be impossibly far away from him and she was so close. It almost felt like destiny, if someone believed in such things.

Sherlock was near Podgorica and they decided to meet in Perast, more or less the halfway mark between the two cities. They paid no attention to any of the tourist attractions and spent the entire time in a hotel room. It couldn't last long though, half a day and one night, but the brief time together did wonders to Sherlock. He didn't want to admit it, but living on his own, far from home and people he cared about was painfully hard. He hoped John would forgive him, but nothing was certain. Losing so much and living in the shadows made Sherlock feel disconnected, detached from other people's lives, alone. Irene changed that. She reminded Sherlock that what he was feeling was only temporary, that those who cared about him waited and still loved him. When she left in the morning, she took Sherlock's sorrow with her. After that, the loneliness and the heartache of hiding from his loved ones didn't hurt that much. Even if he couldn't contact his parents or John, he had one person who was just a phone call away.

The intel Sherlock gathered in the capital of Montenegro led him to Austria. Months later, Irene got in touch. She was in Greece and asked if he was close. Sherlock again almost started believing in destiny. He was in Bosnia, heading to Serbia to find Baron Maupertuis, hopefully, the last of Moriarty's minions. The break from his real life was about to end and he thought it was the last moment to see Irene. And then she called him, asking how far away from her he was. The country they met in that time was again Montenegro. Two days and one night in Podgorica would be enough to go sightseeing, try local cuisine and take lots of pictures. However, that would require leaving the hotel bed and Sherlock was too tied up to do that. Literally. Irene brought her favourite length of rope and unsurprisingly, Sherlock ended up tied to the bed. It was an eventful weekend, Sherlock learnt a lot. He didn't even have the time to explain to Irene why the country they were in used the Italian version of its name. Many times he was about to start a lecture about Crna Gora, but Irene knew how to distract him. Not only with pleasure. She shared her tips on how to tie people up and how to break free. Sherlock listened to her intently and put his newly acquired knowledge to test when he freed his hands and fastened the rope around Irene's wrists. Going their separate ways after that was harder than before. Sherlock almost went after her, not quite sure what he could say. It was ridiculous, his assignment was simple and didn't involve running away with the Woman. And yet he had to force himself to turn around and not say Irene's name. He had a job to do.

Back in London, Sherlock thought fondly of his time in Montenegro. He assumed it was over, his secret rendezvous with the Woman in a foreign country. He was glad Irene didn't come back with him, Magnussen wouldn't leave her alone, she was one of Sherlock's pressure points. Sherlock told himself he was protecting her by not asking her to visit him. She did visit him, though, sneaked into his hospital room with a red rose. Sherlock was half-conscious and thought it was a dream, her hand stroking his face, her lips on his forehead, her words, something that he never expected to hear. It wasn't a dream, he realised when he saw the rose. She really came to see him.

His near-death experience encouraged Sherlock to seek Irene out one more time. He was even more determined to do so after cheating death one more time. John and Mary were back together and focused on the baby, Moriarty's post-humous game didn't start yet, the moment couldn't be better. Irene agreed. She wanted to attend the 10th International Book Fair in Podgorica in May. Sherlock didn't find a reason not to go to Montenegro one more time. Irene actually wanted to learn something about contemporary Montenegrin literature, so Sherlock arrived in Podgorica on the fourth of May, the day before the fair. It felt different. They left the hotel, did something not sexual together and of course, everyone assumed they were a couple. Sherlock, with his limited Montenegrin, didn't explain the complicated nature of his relationship with Irene. The following morning, they had breakfast and Sherlock sipped Turkish coffee, thinking about excuses to stay. His plane was leaving mid-morning. Irene didn't ask him to stay, content with the time they spent together. The weather was good, visibility great, the plane wasn't delayed. Nothing was stopping him from going back to London. Magnussen and Moriarty were dead, he had no reason not to go back home. But he wanted to stay.

A few weeks after Sherinford, John returned to the conversation about Sherlock's love life. That time, he wasn't talking about himself and Mary and Sherlock had no excuse not to listen to him. John pointed out that since Sherlock and Irene kept texting and were both attracted to each other, there was no reason not to go on a real date.

'If you're scared you're not compatible and you two could never have a normal relationship, try it first. Who knows, maybe you're avoiding what's best for you,' John explained. 'Maybe you can only see each other occasionally, like in Karachi, or maybe you can actually become a couple. It's worth a try. Spend some time with her, see how it goes.'

Sherlock agreed. Irene too. She mentioned she rented a flat in Podgorica, tired of living in hotels. That meant more privacy and less detachment from reality. They weren't going to be just two random people in a hotel room, about to go their separate ways after a day or two together. Living in a flat meant all the boring, everyday things that weren't an issue in a hotel. A perfect way of testing if they could live together. Plus, they decided to go sightseeing, do what tourists do. It was a shame they visited the country many times and hadn't appreciated what Montenegro had to offer. Also, it was a good idea for them to be incognito, pretend they were tourists who had never been there before. Both of them had enemies and keeping a low profile was reasonable.

Seven days. Sherlock was going to spend there a week and see if they could be together or not. He didn't have any interesting cases, John was doing fine, London wasn't in any real danger. Nothing was stopping Sherlock. He packed his bag and headed to the airport.

Irene was waiting for him at Golubovci Airport. Like a real girlfriend would. They kissed and hugged, like any other couple around them and it felt natural. No one could tell how they met or how complicated and undefined their relationship was. They were just two people meeting at the airport, happy to see each other.

Irene was living in Hercegovačka Street, in the centre of the capital, near the Trg Republike, Republic Square. It was a good location, a walking street near the new King’s Park and Slobodna Ulica, Freedom Street, one of the major shopping streets. Hercegovačka Street intersected with Njegoševa Street, full of cafés, restaurants, and boutique hotels. For Sherlock, used to having a café close to his flat, that was ideal. They could go to a café, drink coffee, enjoy the balmy evening and five minutes later be back in the flat.

In the taxi, Sherlock mentioned Rosie, wanting Irene to show real interest, as he, as a proud godfather, had a lot to say about the child. Irene seemed to enjoy his stories about teething, crawling and first nonsense words. Sherlock felt confident enough to show her pictures of Rosie and unlike Mycroft, Irene reacted the way he wanted.

In the flat, Sherlock dropped his bag and took Irene in his arms. He had been waiting for so long to feel her body against his and her lips on his skin. It wasn't their first time, yet he felt the same excitement when he wrapped his arms around her and pressed her against the wall. Irene kissed him, lightly, teasingly, while palming his growing erection and Sherlock couldn't resist. The same burning desire overwhelmed him with its intensity and he knew he couldn't wait any longer. He impatiently pulled her skirt up and knickers down, and opened his trousers. Irene let out a sound of approval and made a move to take her knickers off completely, but Sherlock didn't let her. He pinned her to the wall more firmly, everything inside him telling him not to let her get away. All he wanted was to slide inside her. He nearly forgot how good that felt and how much he loved seeing Irene's expression as he entered her. Her moans had the same effect on him, he pushed in harder, eager to hear it in Irene's voice. It was fast and desperate, and perfect.

'I missed you,' he whispered in her ear. He didn't mean to say it, but the afterglow made him forget his fears. To his surprise, that declaration didn't scare Irene, she smiled and replied,' I missed you, too.'

They spent the rest of the day in the flat. It was too late to go anywhere, especially if they could stay in bed, drinking rakija, talking and touching. Sherlock listened to Irene's story about her latest adventure with Kate and thought how delightful that evening was. The sex they had left him tranquil and relaxed, he could forget about the rest of the world and enjoy his time with Irene. He told her about Eurus and the cases he had that year. He didn't mention he was about to shoot himself to protect John and Mycroft. He didn't say one thing he truly regretted at that moment when he thought he was going to die. He didn't want to put too much pressure on Irene.

They had a list of places they wanted to visit. Sherlock remembered his excitement when he prepared his list, anticipating a long sunny day of sightseeing with Irene. They started with breakfast. They didn't sleep much the previous night and strong Turkish coffee in the nearest café was the ideal start of the day. Sherlock missed his usual breakfast and the smell of toasts and freshly brewed tea, but then Irene introduced him to the delights of Montenegrin cuisine. The idea of eating a pastry made of filo pastry and filled with minced meat and cheese, served with yoghurt seemed odd. Until Sherlock sank his teeth into thin, crispy pastry and took a large bite of his first ever burek. A glass of cold ayran, a savoury yoghurt-based beverage, went surprisingly well with the fatty pastry. Irene smiled at his blissed expression, knowing how wonderful the first burek experience could be.

'Wait until you try a spinach and cheese one,' she said dreamily. 'Crunchy, buttery pastry and soft, aromatic filling. I know a place, right around the corner, they have the best spinach bureks in the whole city.'

Sherlock found no reason to say no. He was taking a break from work and could eat any time he wanted. Even with his belly full, he could solve simple mysteries, like who the other clients sitting near them were and whether or not the burek he was eating was indeed homemade and freshly baked, as the owner claimed.

They bought the spinach bureks on their way to Ribnica, the ruin of the 15th-century Ottoman-built fortress on the banks of the Ribnica River. When they reached its best-preserved element, arched Adži-paša's bridge crossing the river, Sherlock mentioned a legend commonly told by the Serbian Orthodox Church leaders according to which the fortress was the birthplace of Stefan Nemanja, the founding father of the Nemanjić dynasty.

'That's why they call it Nemanjića Grad,' he added, glad to see genuine interest in Irene's face. It was a small thing but he appreciated that. Other people often rolled their eyes, called him boring and urged him to just stop talking.

They looked down at the river, its shallow waters and pebbly banks, trees and shrubs surrounding the area. It was hard not to describe it as a romantic spot. Despite the early hour, they weren't the only tourists around, they heard laughter and camera shutter, but it felt intimate nevertheless. They were leaning against the bridge, enjoying the peaceful atmosphere of the place that used to be an ammunition warehouse. The day was sunny, the weather mild, everyday problems seemed so distant. No one knew exactly where they were and nothing could spoil their enjoyment of the moment. But, to be absolutely sure they didn't attract the attention of their enemies, they had to blend in and be like other tourists. Apart from wearing colourful summer clothes and sunglasses, they held hands. Just to be on the safe side, they intertwined their fingers. Maybe someone was watching them, so from time to time, they kissed, for the first time in public. When they weren't holding hands, it felt right to rest one hand on the hip of the other and stroke the buttock. It was important to make everyone around them think they were a couple of harmless tourists who just couldn' keep their hands off each other. Two people so focused on each other couldn't be a threat to any criminal.

After a slow stroll around the stone ruins and more public display of affection, they walked to Stara Varos, the old town. The area, built by the Ottoman Turks, had many quaint buildings full of jewellery stores and small boutiques. Since they were tourists, they couldn't leave empty-handed. Irene bought a bracelet, satisfied with the purchase thanks to Sherlock's deductions about the salesman and his honesty. The man encouraged them to try Turkish coffee at Byblos, a Lebanese restaurant.

'Great idea,' Irene agreed as they left the shop. 'We cannot have coffee just once a day. This is the Balkans, after all. It's definitely time for another leisurely coffee.'

Sherlock had some doubts about that amount of caffeine, but on the other hand, he didn't plan on going to sleep early. He didn't want to think about how much time had already passed, already over twenty-four hours.

It was a little tricky to find Krajla Nikole Street and the restaurant, luckily the locals were helpful and gladly gave them directions. After all that trouble, Irene couldn't resist the temptation of ordering baklava with her coffee. Sherlock couldn't argue with the local tradition and also ordered coffee and decided to try a double mix juice. Mostly to impress Irene and the waiter with his pronunciation.

'Sok od dvostruke mješavine,' he started, with confidence, 'od lubenice i od narandže. Hvala,' he ended with a thank you.

Irene was indeed impressed, just a tiny bit concerned about the taste of watermelon and orange juice. 'Be honest, you choose the two easiest names.'

'Not at all. Sok od ananasa is even simpler.'

'Or od jabuke. Good you didn't pick this one. I hate apple juice, even being around it makes me sick.'

Irene shared her baklava with him and just one little bite made him glad he had strong, bitter coffee on the table. 'It's so sweet,' he noticed and took another bite. 'Too sweet,' he added but continued eating.

'I know. It's so hard not to put on weight here. I want to think the diet based on coffee, bureks, ice cream and baklava is balanced, but I'm afraid it's not quite true.'

'We'll just have to burn these calories,' Sherlock suggested and Irene smiled. 'Have you read that researches found that it's possible to burn more calories during sex than while running on a treadmill?'

'No, but it doesn't surprise me.'

'During that study, men burned an average of one hundred and one calories and women burned sixty-nine calories.'

'Sixty-nine, you say.' Irene somehow managed to keep her face straight. 'Perhaps we should conduct our own study. I'm sure I can burn more than... sixty-nine.'

'Excellent idea. Your motivation is, of course, scientific curiosity.'

'Of course.' Irene reached under the table and her delicate fingers skimmed across Sherlock's upper thigh. 'Plus, I'm feeling competitive.'

'I don't doubt that.'

They had planned to visit animal sanctuary that day, but they went back to the flat. They couldn't be expected to change their habits so radically. Sherlock's body associated Montenegro mostly with sex with Irene and nothing could change that. The way they behaved in public wasn't helping. He could see how tight her shorts were and was sure she wasn't wearing any underwear. He couldn't care less about tiny piglets in the sanctuary that could be bottle-fed. All he wanted was to slide his hands up her shorts, cup her buttocks and press her against him. Irene allowed that, though only for a short moment.

She took his hand and led him to the bed. They left it unmade and Sherlock smiled at the memory of how Irene woke him up. He had never been more ok with getting up early.

Irene sat on the edge of the bed and took off her sandals. 'Strip,' she told him and waited expectantly for him to do what she asked.

Sherlock felt ridiculously self-aware. The sun was shining brightly and the bedroom wasn't as dim as he wanted for that occasion. Irene was going to see everything, not for the first time, but it was a bit awkward. Still, that wasn't the wildest thing that Irene asked him to do.

He started from the shoes, thinking he would look weird naked but not barefoot. Then he moved to his shirt. The challenge, he thought, was to keep the eye contact as he unbuttoned his shirt. Irene smirked and gladly lowered her gaze at his chest. Sherlock knew he was supposed to undress slowly. He dragged it out as long as he could, then let the shirt slide off his shoulder and land on the floor.

Irene seemed to enjoy the show. Still fully dressed, she stared at him and didn't bother to hide how the sight affected her. 'Go on.'

He opened his jeans, taking his time, then pushed them down, hoping it still looked sexy. He managed to completely remove them without tripping over his feet and straightened up again. All that was left was his underwear. He knew she could see the bulge, the outline of his erection. He tugged his boxer briefs only low enough to show his cock. He was fully hard and it stood proudly, pointing at Irene. After a moment of watching her watching him, Sherlock took off his briefs entirely. He was standing in front of her, even more, nude than she was when they met. Irene was thinking about that too, remembered his reaction and compared it to hers. Her jaw didn't drop, but she studied him closely and clearly liked what she saw. Sherlock was more muscular than when she first saw him naked and she approved of that change.

'I wish I could take a photo of you,' she sighed and stood up. She walked up to him and ran her hand up his chest to his shoulder. 'It's unfair you have my text alert noise and my camera phone. I should have a souvenir, too.'

'You should,' Sherlock agreed, wondering if she would use his nudes to blackmail Mycroft.

He leant down and they kissed. He rather liked the height difference and Irene standing on her tip toes. He also liked helping her by lifting her up. Irene then had to hold onto him tightly, her ankles crossed behind his back.

He laid her on the bed and took off her shorts, faster than his own clothes, then her top as well. Irene pulled him close for another kiss and shivered with joy when Sherlock's fingers brushed over her nipples. Sherlock did it again, less gently and Irene arched into the touch. He put his hand over her breast and gave it a little squeeze, then repeated it with the other breast. Irene's gasps convinced him he was on the right track. His hand slid down, between her legs, his fingers lightly pressed the softness of her folds. Irene instinctively spread her legs to give him easier access. Sherlock, a quick learner, knew she liked it most when he gently nudged her clit with his fingertips, slowly increasing the intensity of the caress. He combined it with slipping two fingers inside her. Irene's reaction was satisfying, she sighed in delight. Sherlock loved seeing her like that, eyes closed, mouth open in a quiet moan, a blissed expression on her face. He loved it, even more when he did it long enough to make her desperate for release. He could even get her to say please in a shaky voice.

Irene suddenly remembered what inspired them to abandon sightseeing. 'Wait. Lie on your back.'

Sherlock did that. He was used to Irene straddling him, half the time they had spent in private was devoted to the joys of queening. Irene knew her place and expected Sherlock to learn his. When she was sitting on his face, his role was simple, to pleasure her with his tongue. Apart from the weekend he spent tied up, Irene allowed him to use his hands and he made good use of that privilege. He had the fondest memories of his first time experiencing queening and didn't mind in the slightest spending so much time on his back.

Irene let him indulge her like that only for a few moments. She then moved lower, straddled his hips and stroked her hands over his stomach and chest. She seemed oblivious of the hard length nestled between her thighs. She could make it last unbearably long, just sitting there and enjoying herself and Sherlock's desperation. It wouldn't be the first time when she tried to drive him mad by keeping the caress of her hands as delicate as possible, denying Sherlock what he so urgently needed. They were watching each other, Irene didn't look away and Sherlock suddenly felt a dull ache in his chest. He wanted to think it was just a bit of teasing and her waiting for him to beg, but perhaps what Irene wanted was to stop the time for awhile, keep them between moments. With every passing minute, they were getting closer and closer to saying goodbye once again.

Irene sensed the change in his mood and she was just as unwilling to discuss the end of their experiment as he. To push away sad thoughts, she dipped in for a kiss. Sherlock couldn't help himself and closed his arms around her, pressed her against his chest, startled a bit by his possessiveness. He wouldn't admit he hated the thought of letting her go again. He moved one hand to the nape of her neck to keep her close a moment longer and Irene let him. She pulled away eventually, sat up, rubbed against him, now definitely meaning to tease him. He offered his help, but she swatted his hand away. She carefully sank onto him, biting her lip to stay quiet. Sherlock watched her, mesmerised. She slid down slowly, Sherlock knew she liked to savour it. When they were completely joined, she exhaled slowly.

'I'd love to take a picture of you now,' she said, moving a little to get comfortable. 'To keep this expression,' she pointed to his face. Sherlock realised his jaw dropped, understandably. 'Or this one,' Irene added as she clenched down on him.

Watching her ride him was almost half of the pleasure. She moved so gracefully, her back was arched as she rocked her hips, grinding against him. Her hair was a mess and her lips were parted, nothing was stopping moans and whimpers. Her cheeks were flushed and her breasts bounced with her every move. She didn't mind Sherlock's hands on her thighs. When she leant to kiss him, Sherlock thrust into her and Irene pushed down. He wrapped one arm around her back and kissed her again, loving her gasps and the quiver of her body around him.

Just before the end, she straightened up. If Sherlock could take a photograph of her, he would choose that moment. A picture of her right before the orgasm, with her eyes wild and body glistening with sweat. Or, a picture of her when she was coming, eyes closed, head thrown back and body tense. Sherlock loved seeing her like that. He sat up and embraced her to feel her body relax against him. On an impulse, he pushed her back on the bed without pulling out and snapped his hips impatiently, seeking his own pleasure. Irene, soft and pliant underneath him, couldn't stop making delightful noises that only spurred him on. She wrapped her hands around his neck, kissed his cheek and held him when he shuddered through his orgasm.

'We were supposed to burn calories, but this made me hungry,' Irene laughed afterwards. 'Get up.'

Sherlock groaned and tried to keep her on the bed. He was hungry too, though.

'Let's go somewhere close,' he suggested and followed her to the shower.

Irene insisted they had too little time to pick a random restaurant. They left the city centre to find Restoran Niagara. It was set alongside the Cijevna River and Sherlock couldn't deny it was worth the short trip. He was confused by Crnogorska corba od kopriva, Montenegrin nettle soup with rice, potatoes and cheese. Irene agreed they simply had to try it. Neither of them had ever eaten nettle and it tasted like a herb, unsurprisingly, a tiny bit bitter, but the addition of butter and spring onions made it delicious. Just for laughs, they ordered krap, smoked and fresh carp from Skadar lake. They also had raštan, a cabbage stew with smoked pork ribs and potatoes.

After the hearty meal, they went for a short stroll along Cijevna to the river's waterfalls. The hum of water and the beautiful scenery attracted lots of tourists and again they were invisible by behaving like them. They held hands and kissed, like other couples in that romantic spot.

They crossed the river to get to Plantaže’s Sipcanik wine cellar.

'Plantaže is Montenegro’s largest wine producer,' Sherlock explained, 'their Cemovsko Polje vineyard in Podgorica, which covers 2.3 hectares, is the largest unbroken vineyard in Europe.'

Irene was excited even before they discovered the visitors could take a miniature train tour around the vineyard. It was almost as entertaining as trying the wines. The wine tastings came with gourmet canapés. Sherlock and Irene gave up counting calories and left the winery stuffed full of cheese and Njeguški pršut, a local type of prosciutto called by some Montenegro's national meat, marinated carp and dried fruits. Since they also bought two bottles of wine, they had to go straight to the flat and empty one of them in bed.

In the morning, Sherlock ordered palačinke with his coffee, a large pancake filled with chocolate and cream. Irene chose krofne, a doughnut filled with jam. They were getting used to starting a day in the café and Sherlock realised he didn't miss humble toasts and tea that much. The telly inside the café was on and the owner for some reason informed them of the nationality of every person that appeared on the screen. 'Hrvat. Srbin. Makedon.' Then he also started identifying the language they spoke.

Irene didn't forget about the animal sanctuary and that was where they were going that morning. Sherlock didn't complain that much and let her lead him there. It was only twenty minutes north of the capital. Irene wanted to see two camels and a dozen emus, abandoned by an Italian circus, an orphaned bear cub and a native eagle. There were also rabbits, llamas, deer, geese and chickens. The only animals that were in cages were predators. Sherlock, a stubborn dog person, gave in and fed the animals together with Irene. One of the goats, the smallest but also the thickest, wanted all the attention to herself and did her best to get a cuddle. Sherlock noticed goats didn't want to get a bite of the apple that another goat took a bite from. Each goat had to have an individual apple. Bottle-feeding the piglets was awkward only at first, Sherlock, after all, knew everything about feeding a baby using a bottle. Irene couldn't hide a smile when she watched him patiently feed a noisy piglet. He looked up and knew, just knew what she was thinking. Seeing a man taking care of a baby, even non-human, inspired pretty obvious thoughts. To his surprise, it didn't scare him. It would in the past, before he gained experience by looking after Rosie.

Back in Podgorica, Sherlock was thinking about what Mycroft once told him. _You barely knew her_. Now Sherlock was staring at her as they walked down the street, holding hands, he purposefully stayed a little behind to stare undisturbed. She was wearing a white summer dress and sandals, her make -up was barely there. It reminded Sherlock of the day she was wearing his dressing gown, her hair still damp from the shower and feet bare. Mycroft was right, he didn't know her well back then. Now it changed.

He knew she was a morning person, kind enough to be quiet not to wake him too early. He knew she liked a lukewarm shower in the morning. He knew her favourite ice cream flavour and her favourite burek filling. He knew she made the effort to learn the basic Montenegrin phrases and her accent amused the locals. He knew she was tempted to buy every souvenir she saw. He knew she liked to sleep on her left side and she needed at least two-three pillows. He knew she liked to stroke his cheek in the afterglow, almost like in his mind palace. He knew she had missed him and if he hadn't contacted her, she would have called him to say she rented the flat in Podgorica. He knew she loved spending time with him. He knew her.

The farmers' market was colourful and crowded. Berries were already in season and Irene couldn't resist buying a little of each. Blueberries, strawberries, blackberries and blueberries all looked so tempting. They also bought some blue figs to have them with cheese and wine. Sweet corn was available too and clearly, they needed at least four. It was said June was too early for melons, but Irene was assured the ones from Ulcinj were already ripe and sweet. Sherlock watched her pick the right watermelon, distracted by the name. Lubenice, a watermelon, reminded him of another word, ljubavnica, a lover. He took both his lubenice and his ljubavnica back to the flat.

The following day they visited Ostrog Monastery. The upper monastery, built into the side of a cliff, attracted lots of tourists. Still, the stroll up the forest path to the upper monastery felt intimate. They walked slowly, enjoying the forest. The upper monastery had two cave churches, in one of them, there were Saint Basil's relics. From the monastery, the view was stunning. They could see the plain down below and the Zeta River.

'It's great we're here in the summer,' Irene said as they went down to Nikšić’s Krupac Lake.

Sherlock agreed. It was so refreshing to dip into the lake. The water was warm and clear and it was really hard to leave the lake to move to the next destination.

Martinići Donkey Farm was close enough to visit and it cost a kilo of carrots to go there. They could make friends with donkeys and then they tried donkey milk products. Sherlock was surprised by how delicious donkey milk tasted, he liked its sweet and nutty flavour.

'I'm going to miss this,' he said when they headed back to the capital. Visiting new places and trying new foods with Irene and being comfortable with showing affection to her in public.

Irene squeezed his hand. 'Me too.'

That night they were lying in bed, tired and sleepy, in the spooning position. Irene was forcing him to do that by hoarding all the pillows on her side of the bed. He didn't complain, though. He held her close and smelled her hair without her knowing. It was so comforting and peaceful, he was about to fall asleep when she moved. At first, he thought she was just shifting, possibly already asleep. But then she did it again, rocked her hips back into his groin.

Sherlock tightened his hold around her waist. That didn't stop her. She took his hand from her middle and guided it down to the bottom of her negligeé.

'Don't make me ask,' she whispered.

He wouldn't mind making her ask for it or even beg. However, the way she was sliding against him sparked his interest. They wanted the same thing and sleepy, slow sex was something they hadn't done yet. There was only one way to find out if it was worth staying awake late.

In the dark, he helped Irene take off her negligeé. He was sure she put it on only for him to remove it. She knew how much he loved falling asleep next to her naked body and laying little, feathery-light kisses on her shoulder when he thought she was already asleep.

He teased her with his fingers, sliding them between her thighs and stroking the sensitive skin of her labia. He rubbed her clit with his thumb, keeping it as gentle as the kisses he pressed to her neck and cheek. He cupped her chin to bring her closer to him. He wanted to hear every little sound she made. Irene tilted her head to the side and they kissed, matching the slow rhythm of his fingers moving inside her. Sherlock started grinding his hips against her behind and Irene arched her back, pushing into him.

When he replaced his fingers with his erection, they both let out the same contented sound. Sherlock held her hip as he pressed in deeper into her and Irene put his other hand on her breast, covering it with her palm. They found a rhythm, rocking together, kissing and whispering in the dark. Slowly, languidly, softly. Sherlock realised he didn't want to speed up. He slowed down a couple of times to make it last and stay inside her longer. He glided in and out, felt her tremble in his arms and hid his face in the crook of her neck. He didn't want it to end, didn't want to let her go and Irene seemed to think the same. Joined together, embraced, as close as possible, they... made love.

They couldn't stay in Podgorica the whole time and ignore the Budva Riviera. Budva was, after all, one of the most beautiful coastal towns of Montenegro. The azure sea, stunning beaches and stone buildings decorated with climbing ivy and wisteria vines made Budva irresistible. They walked through the idyllic old town, admired marble streets and historic walls. Irene agreed the nickname ‘mini-Dubrovnik’ was suitable. Sherlock was going to suggest visiting Dubrovnik at some point in the future to compare the beauty of the two places but bit his lip. Nothing was certain yet.

Sveti Nikola, Montenegro’s largest island, was a short boat ride away. They took a boat taxi and twenty minutes later they were on the island. Enough time to tell Irene all about Montenegro's isolated volcanic archipelago that was referred to Hawaii. It was certainly much calmer than Hawaii. After seeing the 16th-century church, they walked away from the other tourists and the beach and managed to find one of the few quiet spots on the island. They were warned not to miss the returning time, as some boats drove only to 6 p.m. Sherlock thought he wouldn't be disappointed if they missed the last boat.

Back on the mainland, they tried a coastal speciality, black risotto. Coloured with cuttlefish ink, flavoured with white wine, bay, garlic and nutmeg. After the boat ride, it tasted heavenly and was worth turning their teeth black. They followed by that by ice cream and went to Mogren, one of Budva's beaches.

They lazed around there for the rest of the day, alternating between swimming in the Adriatic and sunbathing. Sherlock couldn't think of a more peaceful evening than sipping rakija on the beach and watching the sunset with Irene. They ended the day moving from one wine bar to another, getting progressively louder and surer Montenegro wines were delicious.

Fifteen minutes away from Budva and they were in another tourist paradise. Sveti Stefan, one of the most charming coastal town in the country. They couldn't leave without seeing pink pebble beaches. Sherlock solved the mystery of the colour by explaining it was due to a mixture of fragments of calcium-rich shells and sea creatures. They spent the better part of the morning on Miločer Beach, surrounded by a beautiful park. It was hard to leave the coast and return to the capital. They had no choice, though, Sherlock was coming back to London the following day.

Later that day, Sherlock rang John. Mainly to postpone packing his bag. His plane was leaving in the morning, he had a ticket. Irene didn't tie him to the bed to keep him in Montenegro and didn't pressure him into staying. He had to decide for himself.

'So, how are things? Did you two manage not to kill each other? Are you coming back tomorrow?'

Sherlock didn't know what to answer. He asked a question instead. 'How is Rosie?'

'Fine. She was looking for you for the first two days, but then the next-door neighbours adopted a puppy, her priorities changed.'

'Any interesting clients? Any unsolvable crimes? Has Lestrade called?'

'No, no and no. I think everyone is too content with the weather. There was one missing parrot, two stolen cars, one cheating husband, nothing worth your time.'

Sherlock was silent for a moment. '' I see.'

'Listen, Sherlock, it's perfectly fine to choose solitude. It's also ok to be in a relationship. No one would force you to marry her tomorrow or buy a house together in the country and settle down. The thing is, you clearly are attracted to each other and I know you phoned me so you have an excuse not to pack yet. What did Irene say?'

'Nothing. She's staying here for another week or two.'

'I have to suggest a radical solution. Talk to her. Use words. Say you enjoyed your time together so much you're looking for excuses not to go back to London.'

Sherlock agreed that was the most reasonable thing to do. He was ready to be honest with her, say what he wanted to say for so long. He chose the right words, yet when Irene walked out of the bathroom wearing her own dressing gown, he said nothing. He wished someone convinced Irene to start the conversation.

Predictably, the next morning was warm and sunny. Sherlock didn't lose his ticket, his plane had high chances of not being delayed or cancelled. Mycroft didn't order him to return to England to prevent a terrorist attack. He didn't misplace his passport and the taxi that was supposed to take him to the airport arrived on time.

He and Irene spent the previous evening in the flat. The atmosphere wasn't heavy, they were used to such moments, the quiet intimacy before saying goodbye again. That morning Irene woke him with a kiss and said she was going to bring him a burek from the nearest bakery. He realised he could really get used to that. It didn't seem scary until Irene returned and again, he couldn't bring himself to talk to her.

They kissed before he got into the taxi. Irene still wasn't stopping him. They successfully avoided discussing the result of their seven-day experiment. Sherlock could expect a text from her in a couple of weeks and perhaps another trip to Montenegro.

The taxi didn't get stuck in traffic. The airport was working as usual. Sherlock had no other option, he had to take his bag, get out of the taxi and go home. It was all for the best, he told himself, he wasn't good enough for Irene and didn't want to hurt her or put her life in danger. It was better to stay away from her.

The taxi driver's confusion grew with every second Sherlock spent in his car. 'Are you ok? This is the airport. We're here,' he explained, puzzled by Sherlock's behaviour. 'Do you want me to take you somewhere else?'

'Yes,' Sherlock answered and the weight in his chest lifted. 

They returned to Montenegro the following year on the first day of summer, together with their souvenir from the previous time. Nero, their son, couldn't care less about the first foreign country he was in, too focused on his cuddly toy. The destination of their first holiday as a family was important for Sherlock. He thought he was above caring what other people thought, but that was only until he became a father. Since that moment, he had to show everyone his son, overcome with pride. He wanted to show Nero to all the people they met in Montenegro the previous year, so they could agree the boy was perfect.

They visited the same places to show Nero where they were before he joined them. Or when. Nero was perplexed by the camels and goats and donkeys and delighted by the warm waters of the Adriatic. Sherlock held him as they watched Irene swim and knew he made the right choice.

**Author's Note:**

> There, I wrote a serious Adlock fic.


End file.
